L'vae's irrefutable proof.
RL Date: 7/2/08
IC Date: Fuzzy. Beginning of month 12, Turn 16.
N'thei's Weyr(#1765RJLs)
Rank certainly has its privileges; among them are amply appointed apartments. Two chambers connect to form a large weyr, the outer cavern larger and better decorated. Here are impersonal furnishings: a seating arrangement of sofa and chairs in front of a large, tiled fireplace with a blue-and-black rug before it; an antique-looking desk, dinged and dented in a few places but polished and well-kept for its obvious age; a tall cupboard with tack-hooks beside it, gear for dragonriding neatly arranged inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendor for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside.
The inner weyr, a sleeping cavern and a bathtub, is smaller and cozier and less ostentatious. The furniture is sturdy but plain, bed and wardrobe and nightstand. A folding screen half-shields the sunken bathtub, usually with a towel slung over it and soap and wash rags within reach. The relics of a man's life are found here and there, large boots often kicked off carelessly in front of the smaller inner hearth, a rumpled tunic left where it fell, shaving kit by a washbasin.
Stale. That's how N'thei's weyr feels. There's a thin veneer of dust over the furnishings in the outer weyr; though a fire burns in the big hearth, the room clings to a long-held chill, as if the flames haven't yet had time to chase the breath of winter out of the room. A few of the glows, unlidded, are pale and in need of changing. But signs of life make an effort to interrupt the feel of disuse, with N'thei just coming out of the inner weyr; he moves slowly, carefully, meticulously across the space toward the big sofa, delicately managing a tray that contains a well-proportioned meal. In the background, one of the infirmary workers heads toward the exit with a laundry bag slung over her shoulder.
No announcement this time, just L'vae walking with purpose up the steps and down the corridor. He has a sheaf of hides in one hand, held tucked against his hip. The other holds two large bottles, their necks strangled between his fingers. They are identical in size, though one is merely etched glass while the other has been coated and stamped with a crude likeness of a goat. They clink together as the exiting worker takes him by surprise. The low murmur of words exchanged with the woman likely precedes the brownrider's presence in the doorway. He doesn't stop there. "Evening, sir." His expression holds too much tension to really make proper way for the smile he half-attempts. The meal and then the room are eyed as his steps near and slow.
The girl-- she smiles nervously and shuffles out of the room with the hurried gait of the long-suffering, too much time spent looking after a foul-tempered and bad patient. N'thei-- he continues to his rest, sets his tray on the table and lowers carefully into the sofa. Only once he's settled does he steel himself for L'vae's approach, visibly steel himself while his eyes raise to watch the tread of the brownrider across the room. "Come right in." Like the girl, he has the air of the long-suffering, though less victimized by comparison. "Mind if I take my vittles?" So saying, a bite goes into his mouth while his eyes roam quickly to mark L'vae's accoutrements.
"Thank you." The courteous reply comes automatically, as if L'vae hadn't already intruded. Muted hazel eyes come back to rest on N'thei as the younger man's head gives a shake to the question. He doesn't mind. The hand with the bottles comes up, offering them towards the weyrleader. "I thought these might be of interest to you." Looking down at the bottles himself. "You see? I found it."
N'thei continues eating, one and even two more bites going from the plate to his mouth while he looks from the bottles to L'vae's face and back one more time. The fork gets lowered, the food gets chewed, and he explains with the crack of a smile that touches only the unscored side of his face, "On the wagon, but don't let that stop you. Want a glass, or just going to drink straight from the bottle?" Ignorance is bliss, even if it's feigned.
L'vae's brows hitch up a bit. "I don't think I'll need a glass." He looks to edge the bottles onto the table. "I don't suppose you even really need to taste them, to know that they're the same." He pauses, manner wary as he watches N'thei. "They are the same. And that one," he gestures to the coated bottle, "came from your friends." Now his other hand moves, his elbow bending until he taps the gathered hides lightly against his chest. "I can prove it."
A long silence. There's nothing pregnant about it, no sense that N'thei draws this particular silence out for any reason. The searching he does of L'vae's face is blank and honest-seeming, superficial and weightless. "Have a feeling this should be important to me, but something's not coming clear. Spell it out for me, lad." In the meantime, he takes another bite, speaks around the morsel only a moment later; "About your cousin's ale, neh? Friends being the Vijays?" The light-bulb just came on?
Impatience, then incredulity. These flicker faintly across L'vae's otherwise stone-faced features. His other arm comes up so that both are crossed over the hides over his chest. "Alright," the brownrider starts quietly. The added questions bring him up short and add another moment to the heavy look leveled on N'thei. "Yes." Clipped. "I've evidence, that they're the thieves. I'm bringing it to you, first." His jaw ticks. "I want them out."
"But you've wanted them out for a while, so what's new." N'thei leans back into the couch with care, his fork poised loosely between his two fingers, his palm draped idly across the fold of his knee. He surveys L'vae in repose, the man's brick-wall expression, the jump to his jawline, the whole portrait of him; "Can't be done overnight. There's more at stake here than just your righteousness."
L'vae has no response to the first. He mostly manages not to fidget, as N'thei looks him over. The bridges of his feet tip up a little. Fingers shift at the edge of the hides. The muscles in his jaw continue to show evidence of teeth pressing together. "I know." His chin tips down in a small nod, reluctant acceptance of the other man's words. The words that follow have their own share of reluctance. "There is more at stake. The precedent of how the Weyr is going to act in the interval, for instance. It shouldn't be like this." His eyes briefly drop again to the coated bottle.
Quickly; "How should it be?" N'thei has no interest in the bottles, has never had any interest in them if this interlude is any indicator, only in L'vae's reaction. That's where his focus stays, immobile as the rest of him.
"We should be helping our holders, not tricking them. Not dealing with people who will prey on them." L'vae finally breaks away from that focus, his gaze roving about the ill-used furnishings of the weyrleader's weyr. "There is so much that we can do." The man's voice has gone softer. A hand opens, fingers splaying as the palm turns up. The brownrider is now looking at the springtime tapestry. "We should use it to earn our way, not to take it."
Another pause, focus still hinged on the brownrider. "You're going to lead Avalanche. Did you know? Melata gave Satiet her knot. Or Shanlee. Wasn't there." N'thei teeters the fork between his two fingers, the out-of-the-blue remark tinged by tones of resignation and disappointment. "Wish you could have left it alone, but done is done. Vijays will go, you've seen to that, give me time to get affairs in order. Satisfied?" L'vae talks about earn-our-way; N'thei talks like one defeated.
A furrow is on L'vae's brow as his unsettled gaze comes back around. "I..." His eyes search the injured man, catching on the teetering fork. "I couldn't." Quiet, as his expression closes again. And, "Not really." He finally eases out of his cross armed posture, reaching out the bundle of hides. "Statements from my cousin's men are in here, and ones detailing the path of the stolen ale. Even with this, I doubt everyone involved will be able to be held accountable."
Next to the bottles, next to the plate; "Fine. Leave them." N'thei twitches the ghost of a smile at L'vae when 'accountable' comes into play, the weary fraction of an expression. "We're done then?" /Done/ has an awfully permanent ring to it just now, a particularly irrefutable inflection. He starts then to stand, this being a lengthy process under current circumstances.
The notes are left, all the more eagerly when N'thei starts to shift. L'vae fades a few steps back. "For now." His voice is steady, perhaps a bit reluctant, but his eyes are edgily following the larger man. "I don't look the other way, N'thei." The brownrider feels compelled to note. His heel shift back a little more, towards the door. "I won't stop watching."
A flare of temper, a matchlight in the bleakness of his expression-- "Good for you. Want a prize or something, you righteous little--" The level of N'thei's voice is steady, clipped at the end where anger gets the better of apathy. "You, all of you, have made your point. They'll be gone by Turnover. Now /get/ /out/." Threatening and invalid are ill-matched, the weight of the command coming only once he can stand straight, look across at L'vae with a violent bitterness; bit cross-patchy today, sorry.
L'vae tries to stay straight faced, he does. Yet his eyes widen and his feet back-peddle a few more steps. The brownrider's mouth opens a little, but all he manages to get out is a stiff nod. Then he's going for good; one more, long step backwards before the next turns him about and sweeps him towards the door. It's a tense effort that keeps his long strides from tripping into a faster cadence.
IC Date: Fuzzy. Beginning of month 12, Turn 16.
N'thei's Weyr(#1765RJLs)
Rank certainly has its privileges; among them are amply appointed apartments. Two chambers connect to form a large weyr, the outer cavern larger and better decorated. Here are impersonal furnishings: a seating arrangement of sofa and chairs in front of a large, tiled fireplace with a blue-and-black rug before it; an antique-looking desk, dinged and dented in a few places but polished and well-kept for its obvious age; a tall cupboard with tack-hooks beside it, gear for dragonriding neatly arranged inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendor for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside.
The inner weyr, a sleeping cavern and a bathtub, is smaller and cozier and less ostentatious. The furniture is sturdy but plain, bed and wardrobe and nightstand. A folding screen half-shields the sunken bathtub, usually with a towel slung over it and soap and wash rags within reach. The relics of a man's life are found here and there, large boots often kicked off carelessly in front of the smaller inner hearth, a rumpled tunic left where it fell, shaving kit by a washbasin.
Stale. That's how N'thei's weyr feels. There's a thin veneer of dust over the furnishings in the outer weyr; though a fire burns in the big hearth, the room clings to a long-held chill, as if the flames haven't yet had time to chase the breath of winter out of the room. A few of the glows, unlidded, are pale and in need of changing. But signs of life make an effort to interrupt the feel of disuse, with N'thei just coming out of the inner weyr; he moves slowly, carefully, meticulously across the space toward the big sofa, delicately managing a tray that contains a well-proportioned meal. In the background, one of the infirmary workers heads toward the exit with a laundry bag slung over her shoulder.
No announcement this time, just L'vae walking with purpose up the steps and down the corridor. He has a sheaf of hides in one hand, held tucked against his hip. The other holds two large bottles, their necks strangled between his fingers. They are identical in size, though one is merely etched glass while the other has been coated and stamped with a crude likeness of a goat. They clink together as the exiting worker takes him by surprise. The low murmur of words exchanged with the woman likely precedes the brownrider's presence in the doorway. He doesn't stop there. "Evening, sir." His expression holds too much tension to really make proper way for the smile he half-attempts. The meal and then the room are eyed as his steps near and slow.
The girl-- she smiles nervously and shuffles out of the room with the hurried gait of the long-suffering, too much time spent looking after a foul-tempered and bad patient. N'thei-- he continues to his rest, sets his tray on the table and lowers carefully into the sofa. Only once he's settled does he steel himself for L'vae's approach, visibly steel himself while his eyes raise to watch the tread of the brownrider across the room. "Come right in." Like the girl, he has the air of the long-suffering, though less victimized by comparison. "Mind if I take my vittles?" So saying, a bite goes into his mouth while his eyes roam quickly to mark L'vae's accoutrements.
"Thank you." The courteous reply comes automatically, as if L'vae hadn't already intruded. Muted hazel eyes come back to rest on N'thei as the younger man's head gives a shake to the question. He doesn't mind. The hand with the bottles comes up, offering them towards the weyrleader. "I thought these might be of interest to you." Looking down at the bottles himself. "You see? I found it."
N'thei continues eating, one and even two more bites going from the plate to his mouth while he looks from the bottles to L'vae's face and back one more time. The fork gets lowered, the food gets chewed, and he explains with the crack of a smile that touches only the unscored side of his face, "On the wagon, but don't let that stop you. Want a glass, or just going to drink straight from the bottle?" Ignorance is bliss, even if it's feigned.
L'vae's brows hitch up a bit. "I don't think I'll need a glass." He looks to edge the bottles onto the table. "I don't suppose you even really need to taste them, to know that they're the same." He pauses, manner wary as he watches N'thei. "They are the same. And that one," he gestures to the coated bottle, "came from your friends." Now his other hand moves, his elbow bending until he taps the gathered hides lightly against his chest. "I can prove it."
A long silence. There's nothing pregnant about it, no sense that N'thei draws this particular silence out for any reason. The searching he does of L'vae's face is blank and honest-seeming, superficial and weightless. "Have a feeling this should be important to me, but something's not coming clear. Spell it out for me, lad." In the meantime, he takes another bite, speaks around the morsel only a moment later; "About your cousin's ale, neh? Friends being the Vijays?" The light-bulb just came on?
Impatience, then incredulity. These flicker faintly across L'vae's otherwise stone-faced features. His other arm comes up so that both are crossed over the hides over his chest. "Alright," the brownrider starts quietly. The added questions bring him up short and add another moment to the heavy look leveled on N'thei. "Yes." Clipped. "I've evidence, that they're the thieves. I'm bringing it to you, first." His jaw ticks. "I want them out."
"But you've wanted them out for a while, so what's new." N'thei leans back into the couch with care, his fork poised loosely between his two fingers, his palm draped idly across the fold of his knee. He surveys L'vae in repose, the man's brick-wall expression, the jump to his jawline, the whole portrait of him; "Can't be done overnight. There's more at stake here than just your righteousness."
L'vae has no response to the first. He mostly manages not to fidget, as N'thei looks him over. The bridges of his feet tip up a little. Fingers shift at the edge of the hides. The muscles in his jaw continue to show evidence of teeth pressing together. "I know." His chin tips down in a small nod, reluctant acceptance of the other man's words. The words that follow have their own share of reluctance. "There is more at stake. The precedent of how the Weyr is going to act in the interval, for instance. It shouldn't be like this." His eyes briefly drop again to the coated bottle.
Quickly; "How should it be?" N'thei has no interest in the bottles, has never had any interest in them if this interlude is any indicator, only in L'vae's reaction. That's where his focus stays, immobile as the rest of him.
"We should be helping our holders, not tricking them. Not dealing with people who will prey on them." L'vae finally breaks away from that focus, his gaze roving about the ill-used furnishings of the weyrleader's weyr. "There is so much that we can do." The man's voice has gone softer. A hand opens, fingers splaying as the palm turns up. The brownrider is now looking at the springtime tapestry. "We should use it to earn our way, not to take it."
Another pause, focus still hinged on the brownrider. "You're going to lead Avalanche. Did you know? Melata gave Satiet her knot. Or Shanlee. Wasn't there." N'thei teeters the fork between his two fingers, the out-of-the-blue remark tinged by tones of resignation and disappointment. "Wish you could have left it alone, but done is done. Vijays will go, you've seen to that, give me time to get affairs in order. Satisfied?" L'vae talks about earn-our-way; N'thei talks like one defeated.
A furrow is on L'vae's brow as his unsettled gaze comes back around. "I..." His eyes search the injured man, catching on the teetering fork. "I couldn't." Quiet, as his expression closes again. And, "Not really." He finally eases out of his cross armed posture, reaching out the bundle of hides. "Statements from my cousin's men are in here, and ones detailing the path of the stolen ale. Even with this, I doubt everyone involved will be able to be held accountable."
Next to the bottles, next to the plate; "Fine. Leave them." N'thei twitches the ghost of a smile at L'vae when 'accountable' comes into play, the weary fraction of an expression. "We're done then?" /Done/ has an awfully permanent ring to it just now, a particularly irrefutable inflection. He starts then to stand, this being a lengthy process under current circumstances.
The notes are left, all the more eagerly when N'thei starts to shift. L'vae fades a few steps back. "For now." His voice is steady, perhaps a bit reluctant, but his eyes are edgily following the larger man. "I don't look the other way, N'thei." The brownrider feels compelled to note. His heel shift back a little more, towards the door. "I won't stop watching."
A flare of temper, a matchlight in the bleakness of his expression-- "Good for you. Want a prize or something, you righteous little--" The level of N'thei's voice is steady, clipped at the end where anger gets the better of apathy. "You, all of you, have made your point. They'll be gone by Turnover. Now /get/ /out/." Threatening and invalid are ill-matched, the weight of the command coming only once he can stand straight, look across at L'vae with a violent bitterness; bit cross-patchy today, sorry.
L'vae tries to stay straight faced, he does. Yet his eyes widen and his feet back-peddle a few more steps. The brownrider's mouth opens a little, but all he manages to get out is a stiff nod. Then he's going for good; one more, long step backwards before the next turns him about and sweeps him towards the door. It's a tense effort that keeps his long strides from tripping into a faster cadence.